Tasha was a bit bewildered.
Here's what happened: the pointy-eared auntie had eagerly followed Marion to see the oak tree, the underground city, and its inhabitants, behaving as gracefully as an invited guest.
She observed the Amazons' training, staying quiet while they aimed and applauding enthusiastically when they hit their targets. Though she couldn't shoot herself, she knew many archery tricks. Unnoticed, the Amazons gathered around her—some exchanging shooting techniques inside, others craning necks to peek in.
She and the artisan dwarves took an instant liking to each other. The little folk pounded their chests, swearing they'd craft custom furniture for her immediately. They pulled out notebooks, jostling to ask about her preferences. "You're staying, right?" the slightly more observant ones asked. "We've got rooms ready for you!" Auntie Pointy-Ears nodded and began pulling out bag after bag of tea from her bundles. The rose-colored sachets released a rich fragrance even before being steeped.
She gave Marion a huge hug, nearly burying her in her arms. Tasha could hear Marion screaming inside her head, "Soft as a blanket!" She sat beside the dormant ancient oak, pressing her palms against the trunk as if meditating, as if conversing with an old friend. She bribed Ah Huang with some fist-sized seeds. Though the creature normally only ate magic stones, it clamped down on the seeds and trotted along behind her, clearly hoping for more treats.
She even ran into Samuel, who'd come to expel the curse. Pastor Salo, drained from overusing the Sun Staff, couldn't muster the strength to point at her ear and yell "demon spawn." Instead, he stumbled a few steps and glared at her helplessly. Ignoring the priest's defiant glare, she pulled a cupcake from her bag, pried open his clenched fist, and stuffed it inside.
"Poor thing," she sighed. "Don't starve yourself even when work gets busy! Look how shaky you are from hunger!"
After a round of concerned inquiries, she waved goodbye, leaving Samuel's faint protests behind. The naturally lame priest stared at the cupcake in his hand. Given that Tashar, to uphold his integrity, had ordered the captain to cease aid after he refused to associate with beasts, resisting this fragrant, tempting sinful temptation was an arduous struggle for the poor soul.
Finally, the pointy-eared aunt approached Tashar. She showed no unease before the wolf skull's form, introducing herself with a warm smile: "Hello, I'm Mavis, a half-elf." I saw the Light of Nature from afar, so here I am—wearing these little elf boots. My mother bought them from a fairy craftsman. They fit perfectly and allow long-distance teleportation, though I just used up all the teleportation charges. I heard we need to sign an agreement? Let's do it!"
Tasha was a bit dumbfounded.
This auntie bore little resemblance to the ethereal, nimble elves of legend. If she were to leap through the woods with a bow in hand, the branches she stepped on would surely snap instantly. Comparing Tasha's imagination of an elf to this woman felt like comparing a Wei-Jin dynasty beauty painting to a Tang dynasty court lady portrait.
That said, though Mavis wasn't slender or tall and had seen her years, she remained undeniably lovely. Her face was full as a moon, perpetually crinkled with smiles, plump and evenly rounded like a sun-warmed goose-down pillow. She couldn't be ethereal, and that gave her a down-to-earth warmth—like the owner of some artisanal coffee shop who simply sits across from you, smiling, until you've unknowingly poured out your entire life story and troubles. This elven kin possessed a soothing aura that relaxed people; even the sternest Amazonian would smile in conversation with her.
So Tashar's surprise stemmed not from Mavis's race.
Consider those who'd signed contracts thus far: Victor, compelled by her power, had reluctantly sold his soul while scheming to subvert it; Marion fled eight hundred miles upon their first meeting, only selling her soul in tragic desperation when faced with mortal peril; Old Oak was initially wary of her, prompting the entire Dwarf clan to flee; the Amazons, crippled by battle, never wanted anything to do with her and remain in a state of semi-freedom, obeying orders but not proclamations; Captain Harriet's remnants fought them first, and afterward, without the help of their human pig teammates, it wouldn't have been so easy to bring them under control. Add to that the recently resolute Reverend Salo—not one of them was a pushover. Tasha felt that if this continued, she'd eventually be trained to have the patience of capturing Meng Huo seven times.
Then, on their very first day of appearing, someone suddenly requested to join. It felt like a salesman had just pulled out product pictures, before he could even launch into his flowery pitch, the customer had already pulled out their wallet.
It was almost too smooth to be real?
The Wolf Chief's body faced this generous customer and said, "Are you sure? Even if the price of shelter is your soul?"
It was merely a test—after all, bargaining was all about starting high and settling low. If the other party refused, they could always renegotiate the terms. Mavis gave a sly smile and said, "I'll sign the Oak Guardian's contract."
It seemed she truly possessed the means to contact the slumbering Oak Guardian. This time, the soul was beyond her grasp.
Only as the contract was finalized did Tashar realize that the "half-elf" wasn't stuttering.
"Mavis, one-quarter elf. Trained by her mother, she became an exceptional alchemist and masterful cook, dedicated to crafting delicious potions from thousands of herbs—though she might occasionally overdo it. An alchemist who uses bizarre ingredients as cooking materials. If any reckless gluttonous races roam near her apothecary, guard their mouths well. Taking medicine when unwell might just kill them."
"Nerve-dead gluttonous races" was underlined twice, pointing with glaring obviousness.
This was the first time Tasha had seen such explicit quarter-blood lineage documentation. Previous non-human contracts she'd signed involved beings so heavily mixed, their original bloodlines were indistinguishable. The benefits of contracting with a high-level being were immediate—two buildings upgraded simultaneously.
"Pharmacy: One of your contractees is a suitable alchemist who willingly works in the medicinal garden. The advanced pharmacy building has been unlocked."
"Chef: One of your contractees is an exceptional cook who willingly works in the kitchen. The kitchen has been upgraded, and new ingredient varieties have appeared."
The kitchen, previously limited to bread, meat, white melon, and water, suddenly gained a long list of new ingredients: live chickens, ducks, fish, eggs, dairy, and vegetables. Though these were ordinary foods offering no bonuses when consumed, they would likely boost the morale of residents tired of the same old fare. Like the craftsmen's workshop, the pharmacy could delegate production control to Mavis, allowing her to regulate output.
The pharmacy contained a full set of tools for processing medicinal herbs, marking the advancement of the dungeon's medical system from the primitive era of chewing raw herbs to the era of processing herbs into finished products. The pharmacy would record every formula crafted by the alchemist, with the manufacturing steps and required herbs logged in Tashan's pharmacy archives. Once successfully produced once, and provided the herbs were available, the pharmacy could autonomously manufacture the medicine, though its quality would be one or two grades lower than the alchemist's work. Tasha envisioned her soldiers wielding mass-produced healing potions in battle—a vivid, promising future.
Yet for Tasha, the most significant discovery lay beyond the system's prompts.
Being a quarter-elf meant Mavis's grandparents were pure-blooded elves. Compared to those whose heritage was secondhand knowledge passed down through generations, Mavis was remarkably close to the original source. She was an answer delivered right to his doorstep.
"You're the first elven descendant I've ever met," Tashar voiced the question that had long troubled him. "Where did the other elves go?"
"They left," Mavis replied. She studied Tashar for a moment, her expression darkening. "Forgive my presumption," she said regretfully, "but is it true you cannot eat?"
Tashar nodded, unsure why.
"What a pity," Mavis sighed, beginning to unpack her bundle. "We could have shared tea and pastries while we talked. Now you can only watch me eat."
...Was that the reason for her gloomy expression?!
Mavis ushered Tasha into the room the artisan dwarves had prepared for her. The little folk had worked wonders, fitting a round table and chairs into the space in just half a day. The quarter-elf brewed tea with hot water from the kettle, arranged cupcakes, sat down, and gestured for Tasha to take the seat opposite her.
"My maternal grandfather was a wood elf. He met my grandmother at the signing of the Erian Declaration."
With this opening line, Mavis began her tale.
Long, long ago, there lived an ordinary wood elf—neither exceptionally powerful nor noble—who happened to be selected for duty. As one of the guards accompanying the Wood Elf Princess, he arrived at the Druids' sacred sanctuary. There, the princess signed the Erian Declaration on behalf of the wood elves. There, the ordinary wood elf fell head over heels for a human adventurer.
Over the following decades, wood elves and humans collaborated frequently. During this golden age of interracial harmony, my grandfather successfully wed my grandmother. Mavis's mother was born during this period, her childhood shaped by her parents' fresh battle reports—their personal experiences later hailed as epic. She was remarkably fortunate to witness the banishment of the Abyss before reaching adulthood.
Of course, this "before adulthood" was measured by half-elf standards.
Four hundred years ago, the Abyss was banished. Light Elves, worshippers of the Elven God, allied with the races of the surface to seal away the Dark Elves—a branch that had fallen into the Abyss a millennium prior. These proud yet noble beings mourned their kin and, after the Abyss departed, migrated their entire race into the Divine Realm. Grandfather was immensely relieved, for the Wood Elves need not journey far. "No more fear of demons!" he declared, embracing Grandmother. "What comes next is none of our concern. We can retire now. East or west—where do you wish to go?"
Mavis's mother was still a minor, while Grandmother, being a mortal human, was nearing her twilight years. Her body was no longer suited for battle, and Grandfather also declined future struggles against the Celestial Realm, determined to spend his remaining years peacefully with his wife. Shortly after their departure, the Celestial Realm was successfully isolated, rendering all orthodox clergy unable to wield divine magic. This separation temporarily threw those whose power depended on the Celestial Realm or the Abyss into disarray. Erian plunged into temporary chaos, with communication faltering while rumors proliferated.
None of this concerned the family resolved to retire. The young elf, the elderly human, and the young half-elf journeyed westward, savoring tranquility amidst remote, picturesque landscapes. Thus, when the first anomalies erupted on Erian's eastern continent, they remained utterly unaware.
Consequently, by the time news reached Erian's westernmost reaches, my grandfather had but half a day to bid farewell.
The eastern continent was struck by all manner of calamities. Some claimed it was a curse from demons, others swore it was the inevitable consequence of forsaking the gods. Rumors spoke of the sky cracking open, hail and lightning falling as freely as rain; of the eastern seas boiling like molten lava, the crimson on the surface indistinguishable from magma or the blood of merfolk; They spoke of withered landscapes stretching across the earth, death slithering like serpents through the land... Yet the letter my grandfather received was far more plain and concise, simply commanding him to return immediately.
The King of the Wood Elves, a demigod of the earth, sent word to every Wood Elf. The leaves of the Druidic Sacred Tree flew toward every forest in response to the High Druid's prayers. There was no time for explanation, no time for hesitation. For the first time, the leaders of these two free-spirited groups issued such an urgent call: Return! Return!
Grandfather could not take his aged wife and young daughter with him, nor could he abandon his kin. "I will find out what has happened," he said. "Then I will return and tell you a marvelous tale."
He did not return, nor did his kin. The Wood Elves and Druids "departed"—not vanished, for each had bid farewell to loved ones before leaving, seemingly believing they were only temporarily gone, or might one day return. Before departing, the High Druid placed the Heart of Nature within a young oak tree. Save for that single oak, the entire sacred grove vanished without a trace—as the Old Oak had just revealed to Mavis, a fact her mother had never known. The half-elf tended to her mother until the funeral, yet she never saw her father return.
That was all Mavis knew.
"My mother never heard anything," Mavis said. "Information didn't travel far back then, and she rarely left the place."
Now Tarsha could roughly piece together this timeline:
Four hundred and fifty years ago, the races signed the Erian Declaration. For the next fifty years, Victor lay wounded and dormant.
Four hundred years ago, the Planar War against the Abyss ended in victory. The Abyss was sealed off, the dark elves imprisoned, the light elves ascended to the Divine Realm, and within a year or two, the Celestial Realm was similarly isolated.
In the years that followed, the eastern continent of Erian underwent strange transformations. The aquatic races of the Eastern Sea suffered catastrophic losses (questionable—did merfolk and other aquatic races vanish entirely at this time?), while wood elves and druids across the land were recalled. The Heart of Nature was relinquished, and both these groups subsequently vanished.
Over two hundred years ago, a large-scale war erupted between humans and orcs.
These events offer some answers but leave far too many gaps.
Where did the elves go? Where did the druids go? They departed. To the Divine Realm, to the Abyss, to unknown realms. No one chronicled Erian's history from a god's-eye view in that era. Whether the immovable Old Oak or the half-elves who settled on the western continent awaiting their father's uncertain return, each knew only a fragment of the puzzle. For every question answered, ten more arose.
The epic touched upon by the Mavis kin ends here. What follows are merely mundane tales of family life.
The mother who never left the western frontier, waiting for her grandfather's return, is not portrayed as bitter or resentful in the story. She lived joyfully in the western reaches of Eriang, inheriting her legendary apothecary mother's knowledge and her wood elf father's affinity for nature, while also honing her own remarkable culinary skills. She got along splendidly with the local folk, who called her the Forest Fairy. Centuries later, she married a gourmet who had wandered into the woods by chance, and together they bore Mavis.
"After my mother passed away, I left to open a bakery," Mavis said. "This rolling pin is a branch from the Sacred Tree. My grandfather gave it to Mom, saying it would be her lifelong companion no matter what profession she chose—though he probably intended it to be a bow or a wand. Still, a rolling pin for a baker isn't so bad, right?" Anyway, it still holds some natural magic. It gives my ears a disguise, and I look every inch the baker. No one has ever suspected a thing."
She smiled proudly, and Tasha realized Mavis was quite content being a baker. Her elven heritage hadn't made her an exceptional archer or mage, nor had it granted her ethereal beauty (considering Mavis was a skilled cook, the child of a master chef and a gourmet, her figure was hardly surprising). Yet she felt no regret or sense of wasted potential—after all, who said those blessed with talent and lineage must live according to their genes? In Tashar's view, the fact that she and her mother could pursue what they loved was the best choice possible.
"I'm sorry about your mother," Tashar said quietly. "I'd heard half-elves also possessed long lifespans."
The Woodland Elves are as uniquely blessed as their kin who serve the gods or worship the Abyss. They require a century to reach adulthood, after which they retain youthful vigor for seven or eight hundred years. Elven lifespans rival those of druidic sacred trees. Unless met with untimely death, most elves grow impatient with such longevity, departing early for the realms of the gods, the Abyss, or transforming into trees—no wonder their relationship with druids has always been strong. Half-elves possess lifespans equivalent to half the combined lifespans of their elven parent and their other kin. By all logic, Mavis's mother should still be alive today.
What made her stop waiting?
"Oh, it was just an accident," Mavis said. "One day she tried brewing a new poison. Well, I suppose she shouldn't have added so many white berries. The concoction became too fragrant before it was finished, and half the forest's birds came pecking at her windows. She had to shut everything tight, trapping the scent inside. She couldn't resist and took a tiny taste."
"..."
"Turns out it was potent," Mavis said regretfully, sipping her tea. "And the flavor wasn't quite right. She thought it needed more sugar."
Mavis's mother, a half-elf and legendary alchemist, died from her own concoction being too potent and too fragrant. She was three hundred and sixty-one years old. Her last words were, "Should've added another spoonful of sugar."
If that bone-skull head could show expression, Tasha's face right now would be one of utter bewilderment. She suddenly understood why Mavis's skill had such a seemingly unrelated name.
[Add Another Spoonful of Sugar]: Get the pot on the stove! Deliciousness can even move the earth! Your creations possess potent medicinal effects, dispelling all negative conditions from the user. Huh? You ask why someone spewed blood and died after eating? Because the potency is strong, of course. Maybe you should pick a sturdier diner next time—like a dragon? Heh.
Knowing the truth made this skill description even more infuriating. The speaker's smug expression practically leapt off the page, making Tasha suddenly want to punch Victor.
(Victor: ???)
Tasha's domain housed only half-breeds. If the skill's "potency" could even knock out a half-elf, it likely wouldn't work on any of her members. But... while the skill description was mocking, it never exaggerated the truth.
Delicious enough to move the earth?
Let's see.
The wolf-headed figure entered the kitchen. With a thought, a plump, live fish materialized on the cutting board. Tasha waited a moment. The skill showed no signs of taking control of her body. So, just as she always did when cooking, she picked up the cleaver to scale, gut, and remove the gills, preparing a pot of fish soup.
Having lived alone for over a decade, Tasha was no slouch in the kitchen. She wasn't obsessed with cooking nor possessed any special talent, producing only bland, everyday dishes. But this time, as if guided by divine inspiration, her timing was perfect, her knife work flawless—she moved with the ease of someone who'd lived in a kitchen her whole life. It seemed that [Add Another Spoonful of Sugar], like [Reserve Elite Warrior], was a passive skill that activated without conscious effort. Before the soup was even served, a crowd of drooling artisan dwarves had gathered around Tasha. Amazonians peered in from the doorway now and then, though thankfully not as bold as their shorter neighbors—they'd linger for a moment before retreating.
To be honest, the aroma was truly irresistible. Though it was just fish soup seasoned with salt, it miraculously bore the appearance of a Michelin-starred dish. Tasha, heart of stone, ignored the sea of hungry eyes and carried the pot outside. People stared longingly at her every step of the way.
She finally reached the surface, where Angasor Forest once stood.
The Withered Covenant's curse had faded, but the sinister atmosphere lingered over the polluted ground, reminding Tasha of radiation-scorched earth. A recent downpour had beaten the withered trees and grass into debris, vast swathes of land swept away like sand. Not a single new leaf sprouted from the ruins. Standing amidst this chaos, Tasha set down the large pot, picked up a ladle, and scooped a scoop of fish soup onto the ground.
The broth was no longer hot, yet as it hit the ground, it sizzled as if poured onto a red-hot iron pan. Foam bubbled up from the earth, gray smoke rose, and the milky-white liquid swiftly turned black as ink before vanishing entirely.
"Marion," Tashan called over the link, "is that priest still with you? Bring him up here."
Pastor Salo, brought by the werewolf girl, looked reluctant. But when he walked through the passage onto the ground, his face turned pale. He looked around in horror, nearly stumbling. "Good heavens, what is this thing!" the evil-seeing pastor shouted, waving his hands and flailing at the air like Don Quixote fighting windmills. When he finally calmed down, he panted as he retreated to the spot where the fish soup had been poured earlier. "Evil energy as tall as trees is everywhere! Only this spot, about two meters in diameter, is free of it!"
Indeed.
The effect of "removing all negative conditions from the user" worked equally well on non-living entities. The earth could undoubtedly absorb the potion's efficacy. Tashia put away the ladle with satisfaction and declared solemnly, " Such vile corruption must never remain upon the earth."
"Absolutely not!" Samuel clenched his fists, echoing the declaration with fierce resolve.
Well, we have our humanoid detector now.
Two meters in diameter isn't too bad, Tasha thought. With this detector and a few more men borrowed from the captain, this wasteland could be reclaimed in time.
As these thoughts crossed her mind, rain began to fall once more. Tasha walked toward the dungeon entrance, Samuel trailing behind, arms crossed in intolerance, neurotically complaining about the filthy, corrupted energy flowing in the rain. A thought struck Tasha, and she turned to look at Angaso Forest.
With the vegetation gone, the rainwater quickly pooled into streams. These murky currents flowed freely, seeking lower ground.